


If I have things you need to borrow

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Series: Lean on me [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Hopepunk is the 2k19 mood, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Two people slowly healing and growing towards each other, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: Snippets of two self-loathing idiots slowly moving closer together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Stardew Valley fic. It is not particularly good, I know that in advance, but I had never felt the urge to write so strongly before.
> 
> If someone knows how to insert photos, I will for a reference of what Clarice looks like.
> 
> Title is from "Lean on Me" by Bill Withers.

The only thing Shane really cares to know about the farmer is that she keeps to herself. Not that he is generally going out and looking for new people to spend time with, but he does notice, on the few mornings that their paths cross, that she doesn’t really stop to talk to anyone. Marnie says something of the like, of how the farmer doesn’t come to the tavern, only stops to go to Pierre’s, Marnie’s, or through town to the museum. It’s a crying shame, apparently, because she seems interesting. Shane doesn’t really care very much about that. She has stopped to try and talk to him in the past, but after his usual response, they don't say much. She nods a greeting to him as she walks past to do whatever it is she wants to do.

He does notice that she’s the only one doing the deliveries on the bulletin board. She doesn’t get them all, but she certainly tries. He sees her in the mornings, ducking across his path to go visit Evelyn and George, or waiting for Pierre's to open in the morning. People can't stop singing her praises in the Stardrop. He just drinks his beer and puts her out of his mind.

The next time they speak, she’s handing him a Joja Cola to take to work. “Thanks,” he replies, voice sandpaper rough from the morning wake up. It is going to taste like death, but at least it's something. 

She gives him a nod in return. The hand holding the can is wrapped in gauze, exercise tape over top to keep it in place. It looks like it needs to change. He faintly remembers Marnie telling him, _“She’s never done manual labour in her life, poor thing. Lewis says she’s been in the clinic every other day for her hands. I’m amazed she can hold anything or even lift her arms up.”_ But here she is, bloody hands and all, with a can of cola and a pickaxe strapped to her back, presumably on her way to the mines. If anyone pities her, they clearly aren't seeing her. Even Shane, hungover as hell, can see that in her. She’s stronger than they think she is.

“Here’s what I owe you.” He digs through his memory to find out how much he owes her and finds the right amount of coin in his hoodie pocket. She accepts the payment with a nod, tucking the coin into her pocket. He winces in preparation of small talk.

“See you around, Shane.”

_Thank Yoba._

Her voice is soft and careful, like she weighs every word before she says it. No wonder Gunther likes her: she speaks as though she belongs in a library.

But he is late for work. “See you...” _Shit, what’s her name? Of course you forgot her name, you can’t get anything right..._

“Clarice.”

Her mouth quirks in understanding, just a slight pull to the side. He hates it, hates what he is sure is pity spread across her face. “Clarice,” he repeats carefully, gritting his teeth.

She nods again, nothing else, and sets off up the hill toward the mines. At least she doesn't make any other mention of it. He'll just turn it over in his head for a bit, something to keep his mind of the mind-numbing work that is stocking shelves.  _You idiot, that was the first real conversation you've ever had with her and you couldn't even get her name. At least she didn't say anything about it._

She comes to the Stardrop that night. Shane would not have noticed but for how the tavern hushed slightly in seeing her. Her hands are bloody over the tape and there is slime on her face. If her head wasn't mostly shaved, he was fairly certain that she would have slime in her hair. They briefly make eye contact and despite himself, he raises his tankard to her. She nods, mouth tugging to the side again.

He is fairly certain he can read that face.  _I probably look pretty bad, huh?_

He nods, and she gives him the ghost of a smile.

"Clarice!" Gus booms and she winces. "What can I get for you?"

She is too quiet for him to hear, he knows that, but there is soon a cup of coffee in her hands as she talks to Gus. She doesn't stay long, rushing out the door again to get back home, and Shane is left to drink and think his own thoughts.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kind words so far! Definitely gives me motivation to write. This chapter is a bit longer than the first one, but I'm going to try and keep it to this length for the future. Hope you like it!
> 
> Also, for anyone curious, this is what Clarice looks like - https://imgur.com/LQdHX1x

The dirt crunches under his step, and Shane lets out a sigh, trudging his way up to Joja. Another day, another dollar, another morning hangover that he will have to deal with all day. Even in the summer, when everything around him was supposed to feel bright and delightful, he felt empty and a bit dark. No, it was just time to push ahead, one step at a time, and get through yet another boring day.

“Shane?”

Funny how a voice, even as quiet and soft as Clarice’s, can pull you out of your head. Shane looks up blearily, and there she is, waving at him slightly from by the Mullner’s house, cradling something in her arm. As he steps closer, the smell hits him and his stomach gurgles. He knows that smell – the fried cheese, the cooked peppers, the faint sweetness of breading…

_Pepper poppers._

As he steps closer, he can faintly hear them sizzling, sees the steam coming off of them even in the morning. His eyes go a little wide. Clarice passes them over carefully, an entire _basket_ of them, and something about them doesn’t look like they came from an instant packet in the store.

_She made them._

He remembers that he sent her some. She must have gotten the recipe.

"You said you like spicy things, at the luau," she says quietly, tucking her bandaged hands into her pockets now that they are popper-free. "My first harvest of peppers came in. I thought...you might like them."

 _She made them_. _For me_.

"Why me?" He asks instead of thanking her, staring at the poppers and then back at her. He wants to eat one immediately, right now, but he doesn’t want to look like a pig in front of her. Besides, this is much more important, because if this is pity, he is going to throw them right back in her face.

…no, he won’t, they smell amazing, but he would definitely yell at her.

She shrugs, and her stone face seems to cave a little. There is something softer, not pity (he has seen enough pity to know what that looks like), but instead…something like compassion.

"I see what I feel in your face,” she replies. “We just show it differently. I go quiet, you bite back. I understand."

He stares at her, trying to work out what she means by that. She looks away after a moment, like eye contact is uncomfortable. Something about all this makes him bristle.

"You don't understand." He snaps at her, thinking of all the cheerful faces that follow in her wake, even after such a short time.

She shakes her head. "I think I do, more so than anyone else.”

That is the boldest thing she has ever said to him, and her face crunches like she regrets saying it. It makes him shiver, and he suddenly feels an urge to hide, to run, to avoid the knowing that was in her eyes. That’s what it was – her eyes were wise and dark, and something about it reminded him of what was in the mirror.

"Thank you for the poppers," he mutters, cradling them close.

She nods an acknowledgement, keeping her hands in her pockets. “See you around?”

He notices the conspicuous lack of a ‘have a good day at work’ greeting. He can’t tell if he likes it or not. Either way, he waves at her slightly and makes his way to Joja, a little lightness in his step.

Morris is, of course, not pleased at Shane walks in a minute late, and Shane tries not to glare at his boss as he tugs on his work uniform. The pepper poppers are set to the side, somewhere where they can stay a bit warm and that he can easily have on his break.

…but one won’t hurt, would it? It’d be much better than letting them sit.

He pauses, leaving his shoes untied for the moment, and picks up a pepper, tossing it into his mouth. It is still hot, the melted cheese very nearly burning his tongue, but it takes a great deal of effort not to groan at the taste. They’re **perfect** – the right amount of crunch in the breading, the melted cheese (he’s pretty sure the cheese is even homemade too) oozing out, and the peppers are exquisite. It tastes like the whole thing just sprouted from the garden.

They are so much better than what Joja sells. So much better than the ones he sent her. If he sends her food again, he can’t send something like that.

He grabs several more, wraps them up in a paper towel, and tucks them in his sweater pocket to eat out on the floor. It’s not allowed – so, so far from not allowed – but in this moment, he doesn’t care about it. It almost makes him giddy. As he quietly crunches on pepper poppers in between stocking shelf after shelf of low quality canned food, he thinks back to her, to the compassion in her eyes.

_I think I do understand, more so than anyone else._

…what does that say about her?

 

* * *

He heads to the dock near Marnie’s that night to think. He has had half of a six pack already, and the remaining cans dangle from their plastic rings around his fingers. He wishes he had saved some of the pepper poppers to change the taste of the beer, but this is decent enough. Besides, all the pepper poppers were gone, completely downed by the time his lunch break came around. They had gone a little soggy, but still so, so delicious.

Legs dangling from the edge of the dock, he cracks a can open and has a swig of beer. His mind is busy, full of dark clouds that threaten to overtake him, and the drink is slowly working to put up a wall between him and those thoughts.

Footsteps come up from behind him, and he turns back to look. There Clarice is, fishing pole on her back, looking at him curiously.

“You’re up late.” He comments, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Some fish only come out at night,” comes the reply as she walks up to him. He pats the dock next to him and she takes a seat, putting the fishing pole down.

“And you needed those specific fish?”

“Hard to explain. I have preferences.”

He nods in understanding, separating a can from the plastic. “Here. Have a cold one.”

She frowns at the can for a moment and Shane remembers, shamefully, that he has never seen her drink. _You idiot, she doesn’t want your shitty beer, she probably has reasons not to drink-_

But she takes the can, cracks it open carefully, and has a sip. Her face wrinkles at the taste, the most expression he has ever seen on it, and he can’t help a chuckle. “Sorry. Not very good.”

“I think I can make better,” she replies, considering the can.

He stares at her. “Really?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just need some hops or wheat, and to finally build that keg I’m waiting on. But I can do it.” Her expression is determined and she takes another sip, her face still wrinkling, but less so this time.

Shane shouldn’t find that determination nearly as endearing as he does.

They sit together in silence, the tips of their toes almost touching the water, and Shane finds it oddly nice. The alcohol has lulled him into a softer state than he is normally in, and the summer air and the company makes him feel like he can speak.

“Buh…life.” He replies, having another swig of beer. Clarice makes a noise next to him, something like support, and that gives him a bit more courage to speak.

“You ever feel like, no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail?” She doesn’t answer, and he pushes forward, needing to finish the thought. “Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day?

She is quiet, and at first, Shane worries that he’s said too much. Took advantage of this brief moment, overshared, _of course he did, of course-_

“All the time.”

His brain goes quiet as he looks at her. She is pensive, looking out at the lake. Bandaged fingers grip the beer can a little bit tighter.

“It’s…difficult.”

He nods in understanding. “How do you deal? You don’t drink.”

She shrugs. “I got away, find things that prove to myself I can do it. I was told I couldn’t.”

“Spite?”

She chuckles, and the sound hits him like a freight train. “Yeah. Spite. And when that doesn’t work, the antidepressants do.”

He blinks. “Oh.” _She’s so…open about that?_

Clarice looks at him, resting the can on her knee. “Things making sense now?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know.”

That seems to be enough, and she taps her fingers against the can. “I make do. It’s rough.”

 _That feels like an understatement._ He nods at her. “I just feel like no matter how hard I try…I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.”

If they were closer friends, she might bump her shoulder against his. But her small smile is enough. “You’ll get there. You don’t have to get out of the hole immediately. Just one step at a time.”

Then she frowns at the beer can, takes a breath, and promptly chugs the rest of the can. Shane stares at her, and when she coughs afterwards, he pats her shoulder to help. “I’d say woman after my own heart, but…”

The moment his hand touches her shoulder, she goes completely tense, and he winces, pulling his hand away. She takes a breath, puts the can down. They pretend that didn’t just happen.

“Just don’t make it a habit. You got a future ahead of you still.”

She shakes her head. “I think I’ll stick to coffee.”

Fair enough. He stands up, stretching. “Well, my liver’s begging for me to stop. Better call it a night.”

She gets up too, tucking the can into her pocket and picking up the fishing pole.

“See you around, Clarice.” He feels like he is shuttering, trying to put the wall back up.

She looks at him, and something about her expression is soft. “See you around, Shane.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we learn a little more about our farmer based on what she learns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After getting through some nightmarish schoolwork (and a well-deserved vacation), my creative juices are flowing again! I'll see if I can post a little more regularly, but I will do what I can.
> 
> This chapter is meant a little more as a further introduction to Clarice, less about their interactions. I'll get more to that in the next chapter.

Now that they were at least having semi-regular conversations, there are a couple more things about Clarice that Shane is willing to notice.

  1. She is always looking for new things.



Shane watches the farmer walk through town one morning when she manages to get in front of him. Her boots crunch in the snow as she jogs ahead, but she slows when she sees something. She stops, sidestepping to it, and hits something that he can’t see with her hoe. She then crouched, dug in the snow with her bare hands, and inevitably pulled up something. She tucks it into her bag, and then just keep on walking. This is absolutely not the first time he’s seen it, and he has no clue what kind of things she was finding, but it seemed like she kept finding them everywhere she walked.

On a whim, he tried looking too. He couldn’t seem to find anything.

_You can’t see what she can, you idiot. She’s smarter than you._

Finally, his curiosity overcomes his desire to isolate himself when she pauses to dig up something right outside the JojaMart.

“What are you doing?”

She looks up and moves her hoe to the side, prepared to let him pass.

“There’s something here.”

An eyebrow raises. He walks to this Yoba-forsaken place almost every day - he would KNOW if something was there. “Sure there is.”

She beckons him over and, shoving his hands into his pockets, he makes his way over. He has a minute. There, in front of her feet, are earthworms, poking their heads out of the dirt and wigging around.

“I think they gather around whatever it is that is buried and poke their heads up after a while. Sometimes it’s just clay, but there are some interesting things buried here,” she explains, her voice a little faster with interest. “I dug one up out of curiosity once, soon after I moved here, and I found a fossil rib.”

A rib? He blinks at her. “Then what are you waiting for?” _What kind of treasure hides outside JojaMart?_

With that, her hoe comes down, breaking the soil with ease without decapitating the poor helpful worms. With that done, she crouches to the ground and digs through the dirt and snow, setting the soil to the side. Soon, she finds what the worms have led her to, cradling the object in her hands. It is filthy, yes, but it is white, substantial in her hands and about the size of her palm.

“I think it’s bone!” Her face brightens, something like wonder there, and Shane tries not to react to the sheer excitement. “I’m going to take it to the museum. I’ll let you know what it is when I find out!” 

She stands up, brushing the soil back into place with her boot, and carefully cradles the bone in her hands. Looking back up at him, she gives him a nod, her expression serious like she is holding a child, and he manages a half-hearted version of the same before they go their separate ways.

She finds him on the way home, halfway to the saloon, like she was waiting for him.

“Vertebra! It was a fossilized vertebra from something. Gunther is looking up exactly what it is, but it was a mammal, apparently, and it was quite large. Can you imagine?”

The excitement on her face is enough to make him sick, but he feels his mouth twitch a little, as though he can’t quite bring himself to frown and ruin her enthusiasm.

“Weird. Good that it’s in a museum.” She seems intent on talking to him, and as much as he wants to pass by her on his familiar stride straight to the saloon, he doesn’t want to stop her rare chatter. “You find things like that a lot?”

Clarice nods, and her voice picks up a bit as more life seeps into it. “Sometimes it’s just clay or coal, but there are artifacts everywhere. I found a statue of a chicken on the corner of my land by the chicken coop once.”

He blinks. “A chicken statue?”

Now he’s trying to imagine a little statue by his coop, but…no. He was not going to be digging through the dirt to find a statue, and it is probably unlikely that she will find another one. 

She bobs her head in a nod, hair bouncing. “There’s lots of treasure to find when you dig through the dirt.”

That should not hit him as hard as it does, but he feels his shoulders sink down in a hunch. That probably wasn’t about him, it couldn’t be. There was way, _way_ too much dirt.

“I…hope you find more.”

That is as happy as he could get, but it seems enough to make her smile even slightly.

  1. She wanted to learn everything.



It is a passing comment in the Stardrop that got Shane thinking, on one of the rare nights that Gunther came in.

“That girl has filled half of our collection!”

Leah’s voice chimes in. “Which girl?”

“The farmer, Clarice. She’s found gems, bones, tools, books…” Gunther practically vibrates with pride. “Even things we didn’t _have_ before.”

If there is anything that the whole town loved, it is gossip. Pam chimes in after a swig of ale, “Penny says she’s in the library every day reading. An’ she’s offering her own books.”

_I really should be tuning this out.  
**But you won’t. You’re curious about the farm girl.**_

Sam calls out from the corner, “She’s got a massive book collection. Maru’s trying to find time to sit and read her stuff!”

“How that tiny thing carried so many books out here, I don’t know,” Gus comments softly, pouring another mug of beer.

“We had to help,” Robin finally speaks. “It was one of the first things she said – ‘be careful with my books, but you can borrow them if you’d like to.’ She has a couple books on ornamental woodworking.”

“And fairy tales.”

“And on history.”

Shane has not read a book in a long time. _Maybe I can borrow one from her._

Clarice chooses that moment to enter, arms full of books borrowed from the library. All gossip promptly changes to another topic, and if she notices, it doesn’t register. Even from here, Shane can see that while she isn’t smiling, there is joy visible on her face. She buys a mug of coffee and pours it into a thermos.

“Found anything good to read?” Gus asks.

She nods. “History of the valley, the wildlife, the folklore.”

“Sounds like you’ll be busy.”

There is a small smile and Shane freezes mid-sip, staring at her. It feels like he’s watching a rare flower bloom.

“Yeah.”

  1. She wanted to share what she learned.



A week later, there is a chicken statue outside the house, and Shane felt his heart swell just a little. He runs his fingers over the wood, feeling the etches where paint once lingered, and she picks up a note that has been left attached to the side. The writing is small and neat, almost like printed computer font, but he knows exactly whose writing is it.

‘ _The ancient people of this area must have been very fond of chickens. I found another one on the farm. Apparently statues were meant to encourage good fortune for whatever was carved and mounted, and I hope that the same is done for your chickens.  
– Clarice Rivers’_

Shane can’t help smiling at that, and he picks up the statue, turning it over in his hands. It isn’t big, just big enough to fit in a windowsill, and he brings it over to his coop. There is a perfect spot for it, just by the door, and when Jaz asks, he gladly tells her what Clarice wrote to him about. It’s something good he can share, and Jaz is bouncing with questions.

Maybe next time they went to Zuzu City, he could find a couple books for her. Perhaps she would be willing to share again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in the Stardrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for the kind words as I have been working on this. School is stressful right now, but every little comment and kudos notice makes me smile.
> 
> A little disclaimer for myself: I have limited personal experience with depression and suicidal thoughts. If I am not handling this very well, please let me know and I will make edits.

The farm is quiet in the winter, apparently, and with that quiet, Shane sees Clarice more often. She comes to the Stardrop every Friday night, and some other nights when she is not off to the mines – _the mines, how is this tiny woman surviving that place, let alone bringing back sacks of ore_ – and she forms a quiet little routine. She has traded out her regular straw hat, the one she won in the Easter egg hunt, for a fedora from the Fall Festival, and her hair is starting to grow back. The sides are a little longer, more fuzzy looking, and when Shane has had a bit too much to drink, he thinks about ruffling it, feeling if it is as fuzzy as it looks.

If that thought crosses his mind every night, that is no one's business but him and his brain calling him out.

She occasionally drops off jam and other gifts on Friday nights – she did make a keg and her beer is _infinitely_ better than what Gus sells. She brought him one tankard of beer to taste test, but she never brings him beer after that. He doesn't know what to think of that, thinks that he should be angrier about how she brings pale ale constantly but just brings him pepper poppers from her preserved summer crop. She orders a cup of coffee from Gus each time she comes in, finds a spot at the bar, nods a couple of greetings to the rest of the tavern patrons, and winces her way through the night.

Wincing is probably the best word for it. It looks like being in the Stardrop is sheer agony for her. Every time the volume surges, she flinches, ducking her head down as if she wants to hide. Whenever someone tries to talk to her, her expression is stony as always, but there is something hard in her shoulders, like she can’t wait to get out of the conversation. Shane can’t help but watch from his corner, torn between leaving her alone like she clearly wants to be and rescuing her from all the misguided efforts to get to know her.

After days of wrestling with this, one Friday night, finally he gives in.

When they next make eye contact, after Lewis finally takes the hint that she isn’t in a talkative mood, Shane beckons her over slightly with his beer, gestures to the empty seat near him. Clarice takes the offer instantly, making her way over, cradling her cup in her hands.

“Quieter over here,” he murmurs, not quite able to meet her eyes.

She lets out a sigh of relief, and when he looks back at her, there is an actual smile on her face. Not just a hint, not just small, but what the world would fully recognize as a smile. He’s never seen a smile like that on her face before. “Thank you.”

They drink in silence for a while, and it is…different, drinking with company. There is no expectation of conversation with her. She watches the bar, listens idly to the conversation, and they simply enjoy the companionship between them. He finds himself drinking a little less, a little slower just so he makes a better impression on her. Clarice already knows he drinks, but still. It’s a need for approval, small as it is.

_She knows exactly what kind of person you are. Drinking one less glass of beer won’t change that._

He still drinks one less anyway. Afterwards, she walks home with him, waving goodbye as she cuts back up through the woods. It’s nice. Companionable.

He knows he’ll ruin it eventually.

* * *

 

"You don't drink." Shane finally asks one Friday night, covered by the bustling sounds around them.

She shakes her head no, patting her mug of coffee with a bandaged finger. Not even spiked, he saw that whenever Gus poured her a cup and when Pam offers to spike it for her, Clarice always refuses.

"Why do you come to the tavern if you don't drink?" Shane finds that a bit confounding. “You don’t play the games, you just sit and drink coffee.”

"I'm trying to learn to like people again. There are people here,” she replies as if that is the simplest thing in the world. "And so here I am."

He laughs at that. "And no booze to help with that? People are awful."

She shakes her head. "They aren’t awful. Some are. People are just…a lot.”

_That’s an understatement._

But she continues, “Anyway. I don't like drinking. It fucks with my head, even with my meds."

Right. She is still so nonchalant about all that, and he very loudly doesn’t ask what she means by that. She flinches a little, as if she can hear his disbelief, but continues. "I was told I  _can_ drink with them, but I don't like to. Makes my head all swoopy and I lose control and I don't like that. And I don’t like who I am when I drink. Sometimes they don’t work when I drink."

That has to be the most he's ever heard her say. The sentiment in it makes him cringe.

"You need them that badly?"

Clarice stills and Shane promptly swears under his breath. "Never mind, I shouldn't have asked, idiot."

**_That is the worst question you could have possibly asked, you absolute moron, why on earth would she want to talk about that, just because you drink together doesn't mean she wants to spill her deepest darkest secrets to you._ **

Brown eyes look up at him, and Shane feels himself freeze. Her eyes aren’t empty or blank, but if he was to be poetic, it’s like she’s holding something back. Darkness, pain, sorrow. He has enough clarity in him to realize that if that is what she looks like and feels _with_ the meds, he can’t imagine how bad it must be for her without them.

“You have no idea." Her voice is grave, heavy with something he doesn't want to understand, but really does.

_How deep in the hole are you, farm girl?_

“Sorry,” he says softly. It doesn’t feel like enough.

She has a long sip of coffee and shrugs. If she is upset or offended, she doesn't show it. “You didn’t know. I don’t talk about it.”

“No shit.”

There is a huff of laughter, and the tension between them eases. They are quiet again.

“You really do get it,” he can’t help but say.

“Yeah,” she says softly. "I know that hole well."

“How did you climb out?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Who says I’ve finished climbing?”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

She looks at her cup as if it holds the secrets of the universe. “I don’t know. Some days I can see the light at the top, some days the hole feels deeper.”

He is quiet, trying to consider what he could possibly say to make this better, and after a few awkward minutes, he offers her his mug, tapping the glass against the ceramic. “To climbing?”

She smiles again, and the world feels a bit more right. “To climbing.”

When they walk home, she bumps her shoulder against his, a little moment of camaraderie. He bumps her back, and she huffs. It feels…good, and when she waves goodbye, he wonders if he’s actually made a friend.

…he hasn’t had a friend in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane's four heart event, in the way that it could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for the feedback so far! It's been really helpful (especially when I am editing before posting).
> 
> I have always been profoundly unsatisfied with how Shane's four heart event carries on. I am not quite satisfied with how I wrote this, and certainly not with how short it is, but it is worth a shot. Please, all the constructive criticism.

There is cold on his face, and through all of his alcohol filled stupor, he feels that. He snaps awake, water dripping from his hair, and he sits upright sharply. The fast motion is a _bad_ idea, and he winces, putting his head into his hand. He groans, blinking, and looks around, confused.

He’s in his room. Where did the water come from?

_I was up late, I had a lot of beer..._

He then sees boots through his fingers, a very familiar set of boots, and looks up to see Clarice holding a watering can in her hand, a few drops of water dripping from the end. She sets it down and kneels in front of him, looking him over. Her expression, still as always, has concern in the set of her eyebrows, the turn of her mouth, but she doesn’t say a word. No, she just checks on him, hesitantly touching his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Ugh,” he mutters, preparing for the inevitable lecture from Marnie. But it doesn’t come. He blinks, looking around, and she is conspicuously not there. “Where…”

“I told her to wait outside,” Clarice replies, reaching beside her for a glass of water. She offers it and a couple of pills to him. “Painkillers. Please.”

The request, plain and simple with that touch of pleading, makes him do it. He downs the pills, swishes his mouth out a bit, and hands her back the glass. “Why?” 

_Why did you send her out?_

_Why are you here?_

_Why are you being so nice to me?_

She answers them all, softly. “I came to get hay and Marnie asked me for help. Thought I would know what to do."

Clarice's mental health seemed to be a loudly unspoken secret in town. Shane grimaces at the thought that her privacy was invaded like that. 

"I told her to let me do it and not to let Jas in for now," she replies, setting the glass on the table beside him. "Marnie means well, but she isn’t helping, is she? Guilt doesn’t help. You make yourself feel guilty enough.” 

 _Isn’t that the truth?_ He feels himself sag, unable to meet those knowing eyes as he nods, and Clarice taps his chin, makes him look at her. Part of him wants to be angry at her for seeing him this vulnerable, but that doesn’t come. It would if she looked at him with pity.

The profound understanding in everything she does for him makes that too hard.

“Come on, let’s get you into the shower,” she says softly. “I’ll talk to Marnie and Jas.”

“Please don’t,” he asks desperately.

“I think I have to. But I will be careful.”

That he can trust. Clarice is, above all else, careful. Even when she swings her hoe, she is careful. She stands, offers her hand, and helps pull him to her feet. She is stronger than she used to be, muscles straining in her skinny arms as his legs struggle to work, but soon he is on his feet, his arm around her shoulders. He feels big and bulky next to her tiny frame, but she is still holding him up and she doesn't complain. They walk to the bathroom, Clarice raising a hand to silence Marnie and Jas, and gets him situated in the bathroom. She gives him a nod of support and shuts the door, leaving him to himself. He stares at himself in the mirror, disgusted with himself in the reflection. 

He'll feel and look a little better after a shower. It won't wash everything away, but it'll at least feel nice.

\--

When he comes out, Clarice is talking to Jas, her voice soft. Jas looks like she is going to cry, but Clarice is gentle and steady, as she always is. Marnie looks at Shane, her gaze hard, but she doesn’t say anything like he expects her to. He swallows around the lump in his throat and heads into the bedroom to pull on clothes. He has to face this sooner or later. 

He gets dressed and comes back out. Clarice is done talking, it seems, and around the bandages, Jas is painting Clarice’s blunt nails all the colours of the rainbow. Jas calls over, “Come join us, Uncle Shane!” Her voice isn't as cheery as it would normally be, but she isn't crying. That counts for something.

Shane debates for a moment, wanting to sink back into the hole he was used to, wanting to hide under the covers in his room and pretend that this whole morning didn't happen, but something draws him over to them. Jas cheers as he sits next to Clarice, crossing his legs. She gives him a nod, bumping his shoulder with the one that isn’t being painted. He bumps her back.

“What did you say?” He asks.  _How did you explain **me** to them?_

Jas replies, "She said that you were sick, and it doesn't always go away. That it makes you sad, angry, tired. That you get better some days and some days you get worse. We can't make it go away, but we can help make good days better."

Shane stares at Clarice and she shrugs. "It's how it was explained to me. One step forward, one step back. One step at a time."

\--

Clarice leaves eventually, bringing the hay and feed back to her very hungry chickens, and Marnie stands next to Shane, watching the farmer go. 

"She said I wasn't helping," Marnie says softly. "That everything I say to you, you already say to yourself, and it doesn't help to hear it twice."

He doesn't know what to say to that. Marnie doesn't seem to know either. They just stand near each other for the moment.

Marnie finally breaks the silence, "I'm going to make pancakes and eggs. Want to help?"

He hesitates, and Clarice's voice interjects in his mind.

_One step at a time._

One step. He can do that.

"Alright. I'll do the eggs."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarice diversifies her farm. Shane falls in love with her chicken coop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two chapters in one day?
> 
> Well, I need the happy to get through the darker things. In all the dramatic plot, here is a little happy moment. Not everything here is sad.

Shane is in the kitchen when Clarice next comes shopping at Marnie’s. He pokes at the microwave, warming up some frozen pepper poppers from the freezer (they will never be as good as the ones that Clarice made him), and he hears Marnie’s chipper voice calling out, “Hello, Farmer Clarice! What can I do for you?”

That pulls some of the morning lassitude from him, jolting him awake, and Shane turns to look at her. There she is, her hair freshly shaved down with the new warm weather, that dopey straw hat in one hand, in a t-shirt and overalls to welcome the new season. Clarice doesn’t answer immediately, first handing over some daffodils for Marnie, a little dirt still there from where she had pulled them from the ground, and Marnie coos over them, rushing to put them in a vase. “These are lovely! Thank you!”

Clarice’s mouth twitches in a small smile at the reaction, and Shane smiles a little too. Clarice and her flowers. As Clarice’s eyes follow Marnie into the kitchen, she makes eye contact with him. Shane nods in greeting and she nods back, wiggling her bandaged fingers in a small wave.

Marnie turns around, mouth open like she’s about to tell Shane off for not saying hello, but she watches the exchange with a knowing smile that makes Shane want to hide. She is about to comment when Clarice distracts her. “Do you have any calves?” She asks, sliding her hands into her pockets. “I just got a barn built.”

“I heard from Robin!” Marnie looks delighted. “I do have a couple of calves. How many are you looking for?”

Clarice held up two fingers in answer, taking a moment to tuck a loose bandage back around her middle finger. “I’ll pick up two more when it gets warmer.”

Marnie nods and heads back to the desk, taking Clarice’s money and beginning the paperwork for owning animals. “Any plans for the names? You always have fun names.”

 _Like what?_ Shane cocks an eyebrow at her.

Clarice considers for a moment, head tilted slightly as she thinks. “I’d like one to be Josie. The other…hm. How about something random?”

Marnie pulls up the random name generator she has on her phone ( _ah, that makes the funny names thing make sense)_ , and flicks until a name comes up. “Laboo?”

Clarice blinks and snickers. She actually snickers. Shane stares in surprise as she nods to that. “Yep. Laboo. Let’s do that.”

“Really?” Shane asks. “That’s the name you’re going with?”

“Shane, you haven’t heard the names of her chickens yet,” Marnie teases. “Maybe you can meet them? Clarice might need a hand on the way back.”

Shane looks to Clarice. “I don’t want to impose.”

She thinks for a moment and nods. "Sure. Company's nice."

Shane walks back with her, leading little Josie while Clarice walks Laboo. The little ones clearly want to stop and sniff everything around them, and Clarice looks delighted as she works their way back to the farm.

“Diversifying?” He asks. “Just having chickens isn’t good enough for you.”

“I want to make cheese,” she replies, firm as anything. “I need milk for cheese.”

Cheese? He raises an eyebrow at her.

She doesn't quite meet his eye, looking ahead, and Shane thinks for a moment that he could see colour in her cheeks.

“…there are things I want to make that need cheese.”

“You cook?”

She nods. “I like cooking. It’s fun to learn.”

That makes sense. Not his thing, but it makes sense. “What are you hoping to make with the cheese?”

“Pizza,” she says softly. “And pepper poppers.”

_It has to be a coincidence that she’s blushing about making my favourite foods. It **has to be.** _

Either way, Shane finds himself blushing too.

They let the calves into the fenced off barnyard ( _stone fences...she really must want them to last_ ) and with a scratch behind their ears, they set off to eat.

"You get wolves?" He asks quietly.

She nods. "Better safe than sorry."

"Right." He hesitates, ready to leave now that the calves have been delivered. "Well..."

“Would you like to meet the chickens?” She is quiet, hesitant. There is a bit of hope in her eyes when she looks at him.

 _Is that even a question?_ He nods before she’s even done speaking, which is frankly a little embarrassing on his part. “Yes. Let’s meet the famous chickens.”

They cut through the barnyard to the fenced off area by the chicken coop. Clarice clicks her tongue, knocking her knuckles one after another against the fence, and there is the sound of clucking. With that, four chickens rush over to her, circling her feet as she tosses them dried corn.

They look happy, healthy, and as one practically nuzzles up against her, Shane lets his embarrassment fade to delight. “Hello, ladies,” he coos, and Clarice offers him the bucket of feed.

“I missed feeding them this morning,” she said softly. “I wanted to get to Marnie’s as soon as she opened.”

He nods. “So…what are their names?”

She points to a white one. “That’s my first one, Cullen.”

"Cullen? Cullen's a weird name for a chicken," he teases.

She chuckles. "Cullen's my friend's name. He lives back in Zuzu City. I call him every now and then and I tell him about them. He thinks it's embarrassing to have a chicken named after him." She looks a bit brighter.

Shane isn’t sure if he’s jealous of that or not.

“I’d be honoured if you named a chicken after me,” he replies, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I get more.”

He doesn’t think too hard about that. "And this one?" He points to another white chicken.

“Barney, and that one’s Spot.” The last is the only brown chicken of the lot. He remembers seeing her carry that one home, the chick cradled carefully in her skinny arms.

Normal names, at least. There is one more white chicken running around, one that runs into her legs and clucks at her quite loudly. Clarice smiles and bends to pet the ruffled feathers.

“And who is that lovely lady?”

"La."

He blinks. “La?”

“La. As in Do re mi fa so _la_.”

 _Ti do,_ his brain finishes, even as he snickers. "...I stand corrected on which of your chickens has the weirdest name."

She laughs. Or coughs. It sounds like a bit of both. Something in his stomach swoops, and he feels a desperate urge to make her laugh more.

_Oh no._

She keeps talking about their personalities, about how she is going to get a duck and maybe name it Duckie and he goes along with it while his brain screams at him, _You’re getting attached, you’re getting attached, you’re going to mess it up even more now that you’re getting attached._

For the moment, he shoves that voice to the side and enjoys the company of the farmer and her happy fat chickens.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor's visits, and a bit of a character study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's add self-destructive to 'self-loathing idiots', shall we?
> 
> A little of character study on Clarice again. Proving yourself to everyone, including yourself, is one way to keep going.

Marnie drags Shane behind her into the doctor’s office as soon as spring swings into Stardew Valley. He tries to stand his ground, feeling briefly like a child fighting over something he doesn’t want, arguing with her about how he doesn’t need to go to the doctor, he’s fine, he hasn’t been sick in a while, but there are certain things that Marnie will not let go. Vaccines are one of them.

“Do it for Jas, Shane,” is the one sentence that makes him do it, and while he does drag his feet the whole way to the clinic, he still follows Marnie in. To be fair, tetanus is dreadful, so it might be good to get a shot regardless. But he’s certainly not going to say that to Marnie.

There’s no appointments today, he notes on the calendar by the door. The townsfolk are wildly predictable with the same regular appointments every single year. Harvey is at the front counter, pulling out gauze and kindly telling off a familiar small figure on the other side.

“I really would rather we did this in the back room,”

“It’s alright,” comes a soft voice. “It’s just a quick thing. No one is coming in.”

“Clarice, you really must take a break for your hands to heal. You are going to get an infection at this rate.”

Harvey’s taken off the bandages and gauze, and the sight of Clarice’s bloody hands makes Shane choke, nearly makes him gag. Where there aren’t calluses, there are blisters and scars, bloody weeping wounds from what looks like repeated work, even through the pain that she must feel. Distantly, Shane is aware that Marnie is staring in horror. He is sure he is too.

“It’s fine.” Clarice's voice is harder, more determined now, and if Shane was Harvey, he’d let the matter rest at that.

“No, it is very clearly not.” Harvey looks very concerned. “You need to rest.” 

“It’s spring. I can’t. There’s too much to-” 

The clinic door closes behind them with an audible ‘thunk’, and that sound is enough to make Harvey look up. Clarice turns to see Shane and Marnie staring, and something in her face solidifies, turns her expression into stony blankness. She quite obviously hides her hands and Harvey clears his throat to try and break the tension. “Hello there, Marnie, Shane. Just take a seat, I’ll be with you shortly.” 

Shane sees something in the set of Clarice’s eyebrows, even as they move to a chair. She looks...upset, like she wants to frown but can’t get her mouth to follow suit. If Shane has to guess what is going on in Clarice’s head, trying to guess how he would feel, the only thing he can come up with is...shame. She’s ashamed. 

_ Why would she be ashamed?  _

_ Why would she do that to her hands?  _

Harvey takes Clarice into the back, presumably to wash up her wounds and give her some antibiotics, and as soon as the door closes, Marnie leans over to whisper in his ear. “I knew her hands were bad when she moved here, but I didn’t realize they still were!” She tuts. “I thought she’d be used to the hard work by now.” 

She probably is. But Shane remembers the large boulders that simple pickaxes can’t break. The strong stumps and trees that refuse to be cut down. He thinks of Clarice, of how she refuses to believe that there are things she can’t do, how every task she accomplishes makes her feel stronger, how desperate she is to feel strong. He thinks of her hands, and imagines her swinging a pickaxe as hard as she can, sweat flattening her hair to her skin, trying to beat a boulder into submission. He imagines scabs cracking and bleeding, her cursing at them, rebinding them, and trying again the next morning. 

Her determination, still faintly endearing, now seems a bit scary. He wonders if she ever takes time to rest.

He wonders if her time spent in the tavern with him  _ is _ her rest. Her precious free time and she is spending it with him. He feels both flattered and unworthy.

Marnie continues softly, “She works too hard. I think she needs help.” 

Shane shrugs. “I don’t think she wants it.” 

“That doesn’t matter. She can always ask for help if she needs it,” Marnie replies. 

Shane rolls his eyes. “She won’t ask.” 

_ Even I know that.  _

Clarice comes out of the back room, fresh bandages on her hands, and Harvey is whispering very urgent last-minute directions at her. Shane thinks he hears “and take it easy, you don’t need to do everything at once”, but he also sees her square her shoulders. 

They make eye contact as she leaves the clinic, and Shane gives her a little nod of acknowledgement. She does the same, and when Marnie opens her mouth to make the offer, Shane grabs her hand, squeezes it so she doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just gives Clarice a small smile. “See you tonight?” 

Clarice’s head tilts, considering it (he can practically see her tallying up the amount of work she has to do and if she has time), and nods. “See you tonight.” 

Shane is promptly pulled in to get his flu shot, and the door thunks behind the farmer as she heads out to presumably ruin her hands some more.

That night at the Stardrop, her fresh bandages are covered in dirt. Shane thinks he can see red patches peeking through, and he gets the feeling he should learn how to bandage hands, just in case.

“Show that stump who’s boss?” He asks around his tankard.

She nods, holding her coffee so gingerly it looks like she’ll drop it. There is a small smile, but it is triumphant. “Yes.”

He can't judge her on her self-destructive tendencies. He's got plenty of his own. He is about to leave it alone when a thought occurs to him. “And who’s the boss on your farm?” He can’t help the pump-up, and Clarice laughs softly.  


“I am.”

_Damn right you are,_ he thinks as he gets a straw for her to drink her coffee. She smiles at him and his heart thumps in his chest.

_ Damn right you are. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The six heart event, and its aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the misfortune of triggering Shane's six heart event on his birthday in Year 2, which, poor guy. But it did give me an idea, and I hope I did it some form of justice.
> 
> Also I'm thinking of giving the chapters actual names now. Thoughts?

Clarice picks up two more calves in spring – she picks them up while Shane’s at work, and he hears about the names after the fact, Annie and Sasha. Her diversification seems to be going well, and he is witness to that one Friday when she brings in two fresh pizzas along with her usual jam. Sam gets the other one – he is just as much of a pizza fiend as Shane is – but she still sits next to him and joins him.

He offers her a slice. If that’s not an open declaration of friendship, he doesn’t know what is.

Then the 20th comes around. He has to go to work on his birthday, because _of course he does_ , and it’s just another day he’s getting older. Great. Another day of working and drinking. There’s no real point to it.

At 9 in the morning, he’s deep in his shelving and stocking when there is a light tap on his shoulder. “Shane?”

_Clarice._

He turns to her, looking quickly back to make sure that Morris can’t see them, and stares at her. She is clearly uncomfortable – they’ve talked before about draining working for Joja was and how she never wants to set foot in Joja ever again. But she’s here? “What are you doing here?” He hisses, trying not to sound angry. He’s more…concerned. Yes, that sounds right.

She reaches into her backpack, and as she moves the flap, he recognizes the smell coming out of it. In the stale Joja air, it is an unmistakable smell. _Fresh pepper poppers._ His mouth waters. She murmurs, “I got my greenhouse working. Happy birthday, Shane.”

He cradles them carefully in his hands, staring at them. It’s going to be a terrible day, he knows it, but there is pepper poppers for now, and he smiles at her anyway. It’s genuine. “You remembered my birthday? I'm impressed. Thanks.”

“Of course I did,” she says, and it looks like she is going to say more before she cuts herself off. There is the sound of footsteps and Shane promptly tucks the basket behind one of his boxes of cans. She gives him a nod and walks towards Morris, heading him off at the pass.

She’s dealing with Morris so he won’t have to. He feels a little warm at that.

But of course, the day doesn’t go well. It never does. Morris yells at him, threatens him to throw the pepper poppers out, but Shane manages to sneak them into the break room and eats them for lunch. They taste delicious, fresh peppers and homemade cheese, and they are effectively spoiling him from being able to tolerate shitty Joja food.

… _I don’t deserve this._

Morris makes him work extra hard – “just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you get to slack off, Shane” – and by the time that Shane gets off work, there is a black cloud hanging over him. This is all he is going to have. Working, drinking…what kind of life is that? What kind of a waste of space is he? He can’t even be a good uncle. He buys the requisite cases of beer and makes his way into Cindersap Forest, to his favourite lookout spot. All he wants to do is drink until he forgets how awful this feels.

_Happy birthday to me…_

_\--_

He wakes up in a hospital bed, the bright lights digging into his skull. He has no real idea how he got there, but he knows he feels like death warmed over. He turns slightly, trying to hide from the light, and through slitted eyes, he sees Clarice sitting in the chair beside him. Her expression is grave and stony, like it was when she first moved here, and she watches him with more intent than he has ever seen in her. It is...terrifying, honestly.

He braces himself for her reaction, already kicking himself for letting her see him like this.

She moves slowly, but there is a hand on his forehead, smoothing sweaty hair back. Her hands are rough but cool, and he sighs, closing his eyes against the world. Yoba, his head hurts.

"Go back to sleep. We'll talk later."

He dreams that her touch lingers before she leaves, a single brush of her thumb across his forehead between his eyebrows. When he wakes up, Harvey lets him wash up and he sees a smudge of dirt across his forehead.

“She carried you here,” Harvey says softly, handing Shane back his clothes. “Banged on the door and screamed until I came down. I didn’t recognize her at first.”

 _Clarice…screamed?_ The thought of such a quiet woman making a noise like that is baffling to him.

“You should check in with her, when you feel ready,” Harvey says softly. “But soon. She was worried sick about you.”

That makes his stomach turn. Great, someone else to worry about him.

“But Shane. Before you go, I’d like to give you something.”

A brochure is passed over, and Shane flicks it open to read. Therapy.

“She’s a good therapist. We went to school together, and I know she does phone and skype calls if you can’t make it into the office,” Harvey sighs. “But I think you need someone to talk to, Shane. This was...really not good, and we know it could have been much worse.”

Everything in him wants to say no. He doesn’t want to be a burden, and he wants to be angry that Harvey would say he needs help this badly. But then he remembers a conversation by the lake, beers in hand.

_You’ll get there. You don’t have to get out of the hole immediately. Just one step at a time._

Somehow, it’s comforting. He nods and puts the brochure in his back pocket. “I’ll give them a call.”

He thinks he actually might.

\--

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

It’s awkward, standing on her front porch in the early morning dew ( _Yoba, it is 6 am, it is too early to be out and about - but he had wanted to catch her before she started work, and so here he is)._ He is in his work uniform, her in shorts and a long sleeved shirt, a cup of coffee in her hands. Everything in him wants to run and bolt after apologizing, because she saw him in possibly the worst state he has ever been. On his _birthday_. She had carried him to the clinic, had apparently screamed for Harvey, and had sat with him the entire night. He doesn’t know what she thinks of him. She could be judgemental beyond belief.

She is quiet, observing, and there is a softness that he hopes isn't pity.

"I am simply glad that you're okay," she says quietly.

He nods, and prepares to leave.

"Hey, Shane."

He turns back.

"It's tough as fuck some days. But if you have another shit day, come find me, hey?"

It’s the most vulgar he’s ever heard her be, but the sentiment in there is real. His chest tightens and he nods. She hands him a new basket of pepper poppers to take home. “To properly enjoy your birthday.”

They are piping hot, but they should not make him feel this warm.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarice has a bad day. Shane steps in. Trigger warning for discussion of depression, and mentions of suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Clarice originated as a Dragon Age OC, specifically a Tranquil. I did manage to work out a non-fantasy backstory that matched Tranquility (which involved involuntary drug trials), but it felt a bit much for this story. 
> 
> I still don't know if I have this right, but I'll keep my fingers crossed. Feel free to leave me whatever criticism you like. I hope you enjoy.

Clarice doesn’t come to the Stardrop that night. 

He walks to her house, wishing he had chugged a beer to ease his nerves, and knocks on the door. It opens slightly, and he sees her sitting on her bed, blankets around her, a hollow look in her eyes. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Her voice cracks, dry and rough like she hasn’t had anything to drink today. She looks over, recognizing that he’s there, and then turns back to stare at the TV she’s moved in front of the bed. Her stare is completely unfocused, her posture hunched, and Shane is instantly worried. He pours her a glass of water just in case and makes his way over. 

“Bad day?”

She nods. “I have a scale for it.” Her voice is soft, points vaguely at something on her table. It's a piece of paper, and he picks it up, turns it over. It’s a rating system provided by a therapist office, from 1-10, with 10 being the best she can be and 1 being ‘danger get me into suicide watch _now_ ’. 

“Rating today?”

“3. 2 earlier.”

Ah. Shit.

“You've taken your meds?” 

She nods, shifts under her blanket so she can hide from him.

“Animals been fed?”

She nods. “Autofeeders.”

Good to hear. He is a little sad that he doesn’t get to meet her chickens, but that is very much  _ not  _ the priority here.

“Need me to call anyone?”

She shakes her head. “Already called Dinah.” 

Good. Shane nods in approval. He can see now that Clarice’s eyes are a bit puffy and that the tissue box next to her was empty. He doesn’t need to ask what she talked to her therapist about.

“You okay with some company?”

This response takes a bit longer, as she seems to weigh a desire for comfort against shame, but she nods. She shifts over slightly on the bed and he sits down next to her, on top of the blanket so she feels a bit less cramped. The TV is playing whatever brainless content will roll over them, and Shane leaves it at that, handing her the glass of water. She drinks her water, and after a while, he gets up to make them dinner. He can't do much cooking-wise, but he manages sandwiches with the fresh bread she made. She sits up, dragging herself into position like her limbs are full of lead, and eats slowly, one bite at a time. He silently coaxes the rest of the sandwich into her when she starts to stop. He’d go get something more from the Stardrop, something better than his cooking, warm and sweet, but something in him doesn’t want to leave.

Something in him thinks that he  _ shouldn’t.  _

They are quiet for a while before she speaks. “Why?”

She is quiet, and at that moment, she sounds so much like him that it hurts. It feels like he’s on his floor and her having poured water on him all over again, but the other way around.

He tries to answer all the questions he thinks she’s asked. “You weren’t at the Stardrop and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re my friend. And you did this for me. I haven’t had friends for a while, but this is what friends do.”

“’m not a good one.”

Shane raises an eyebrow at her, not sure how to respond but hoping his disbelief shows.  She meets his gaze steadily at first, but she is the first to flinch and look away, staring at the blankets. 

Finally, he comes up with words. “We decide for ourselves what makes a good friend, based on what we need and do. That’s what Jill says.”

_ Occasionally my therapist has nuggets of wisdom. _

Her mouth twitches slightly and Shane counts that as a victory. They sit in silence for a bit longer, and finally, Shane can’t keep the quiet patience up.

“You want to talk about it?”

At first, she shakes her head, but she freezes in the middle of the movement, considering. Finally, she speaks quietly. “Your depression metaphor. You talked about a hole you couldn’t crawl out of.”

He nods and stays quiet. She continues after a moment of thought.

“Mine’s a pool.”

Ah. “Drowning?”

She nods. “I was always the smart one. I’m not strong, I’m not artsy, I have no coordination or real people skills. But I’m smart. I have a good memory, I like to learn. My family said I was going to go far, do great things, be this...amazing person. Then I started to feel it. Like I was supposed to keep rising, and the water was rising, and all I could do was sink.”

Shane understands the weight of expectation, and he nods again. “Hard to rise when it’s all you can do to keep treading water.”

She chuckles, but it’s bitter. “Yeah. I had to be the best. Then...You know the phrase, big fish, little pond? As soon as I went to college, I realized I wasn’t the smart one. I was just someone else. I won’t blame my depression on university, but it certainly didn’t help.”

Again, there is quiet, and he waits for her to start speaking again like his therapist does. Finally, Clarice murmurs, “Then I ended up at Joja. I needed money, but from how my parents reacted, I had just thrown my life away. No family support, and then Joja being, well, Joja…”

He shudders, thinking of the work day that awaits him tomorrow.

She shrugs. “There were some bad days. I hit 1 a couple of times. And now I’m here.” Her laughter sounds far too familiar, bitter and sad. “I can’t even do Joja right. And now?”

That is where he has to interject. “Hey. You're a good farmer."

Clarice doesn’t say anything, but she holds up her hands at him, bloodied and callused, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, yeah, that’s not the healthiest thing, but you’re doing other good things. All your animals love you, even the new ones. You’re stronger, you can cook, you smile now, and what’s your average rating?”

Another moment of quiet as Clarice considers it. “5. 6 since we became friends.”

His heart tumbles over at that, but he presses on. “See? You’re doing pretty damn good. Your animals love you, your produce is delicious...you’re a good farmer. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are.”

She shrugs. “Thanks. Can you tell my brain that? It doesn’t want to listen.”

This seems like the moment for a hug. If she was anyone else, he would hug her. But she isn’t, so he lightly nudges her with his shoulder. “I’m sorry your brain’s being stubborn..”

She is still for a moment and then nudges him back. “Thanks. Just…no pity. Okay?”

He nods. “Fuck no, pity is awful.”

“Tell me about it,” she mutters, and a little more life creeps into her face. “On a better day, remind me to tell you about my friends.”

“I’ll pencil that in after your next breakdown.”

The words come without thinking and he is about to apologize, sure that he has crossed a line with that frankly abominable joke when she barks out a laugh. Shane freezes, eyes wide in shock as Clarice, quiet stony Clarice, starts hysterically laughing until she can’t breathe. It’s...well, frankly, it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. He is sure he is staring, eyes wide like he’s just seen a sunset or a rare flower blooming.

“I’ll mark it on my calendar,” she wheezes out, grasping her middle as she grapples for breath. “Water crops, feed chickens, cry over trauma.”

He lets out a sigh and chuckles with her. “I’ll set an alarm.”

She smiles a bit before her face sinks back to stoniness. He picks up the remote and nudges her shoulder. “Shitty movie?”

A small nod. “Shitty movie.”

There will be more bad days, and he’s certain she hasn’t told him everything. But there are moments of honesty, sandwiches, and bad movies. 

And that’s good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional fun note - here are the names for her animals:
> 
> Chickens: Cullen, La, Barney, Spot, Winston  
> Duck: Duckie  
> Cows: Annie, Sasha, Laboo, Josie   
> Goats: Burt & Ernie


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Community Center has been built.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I have now graduated (with a Master’s degree, I am very proud) and now I have been frantically job hunting while working at a daycare. But here is my newest chapter. A huge thanks to dreaminglestrade for being my beta on this chapter :)
> 
> Also, if I haven’t mentioned it before, Clarice is about 5’1”. She is tiny. I imagine Shane to be about 5’10”. I am a sucker for size difference in ships.

“She did it!”

The mayor bursts into the tavern, a bright grin on his face and arms over his head like he’d just scored a goal in gridball. Every head in the tavern swivels to look at him. Shane thinks he has never seen Mayor Lewis so happy in his life. Or maybe happy isn’t the right word for the expression on the man’s face. It looks more…triumphant. That is better.

“Who did what?” Gus asks, eyebrows raised in surprise as he sets his washcloth down on the counter.

“The farmer! Clarice! The community center!” Lewis can’t seem to string words together into a clear sentence, but the man is just shy of bouncing up and down. “Come see!”

His enthusiasm is curious enough that the Friday night patrons rise from their chairs and make their way out the door. Shane thinks about staying for just a moment, just to finish off his beer in silence, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He sighs, rises, and follows the crowd. Gus and Emily bring up the rear as they walk through town and up the hill to the community center. His hands are shoved into his hoodie pockets as he walks, racking his brain for a moment to think of what Clarice might have done. He does remember her pointedly buying one of every crop in each new season and her visits to the gypsy cart every Friday and Sunday morning, but he can’t think of what on earth that might mean.

Sebastian calls back, “I’ve seen her going in the building a lot, bringing in a backpack full of things and leaving with nothing. So she's definitely done  _something."_

Shane frowns. _What_ _ have you been doing, farm girl? _

As soon as the front of the line gets into view of the building, the whispers begin.

“It looks just like new!” Pam calls from the front.

Sure enough, Shane can see it now. Even from the outside, the building looks clean and new. The vines are trimmed back, the paint is fresh and glossy, the clock is functional again, and the sign reading ‘Pelican Town’ looks bright and proud. His eyebrows raise a little in surprise.

_ Really. What  _ **_have_ ** _ you been doing, Clarice? _

The mayor opens the door wide and urges everyone inside. The moment that Shane doesn’t hear the floorboards squeaking, he knows something big happened. Everyone in front of him promptly loses it and it takes him stepping inside as well to fully understand why. He gawks for a moment, looking around the room.

Shane had never been in the community center when it was new. By the time that he’d come to Stardew Valley, it was dilapidated and abandoned in lieu of the church, tavern, and Pierre’s spare room. Now he can understand why the older residents missed it.  It is a beautiful building, warm and cozy as the fire roars in front of them. As Emily runs to the craft room and Willy peers into the fish tank, he gets it, as cynical as he is. It has something for everyone. Even the younger residents are excited, looking at all the spaces where they can set up their games and hide from their parents. He finds a wall to lean on by the sofa and watches. George is there, commenting on how it looks better than before, with new wood and brighter colours. Emily says the energy feels good in here. It may be the only time they’ve ever agreed on anything.

The door opens again to reveal Clarice, who looks a little bewildered at all the attention. Even so, there is something about the set of her shoulders. “You look proud,” he says softly, trying not to draw anyone’s attention.

She turns to him, settling against the wall beside him to watch too. “I am.”

“How did you do it?” He has to know. "No one had a clue that you were doing this."

Her eyebrow arches and her smile is a little secretive. “Hard work and a little help,” she replies and he rolls his eyes at her.

“Really. Who?”

“Shane, if I told you, you honestly wouldn’t believe me.”

…alright. He’ll take that honesty. “Why did you do all this then?” He gestures broadly around the room. "This had to be a huge amount of work."

Clarice’s smile grows a little fiercer. “Because fuck Joja. That’s why."

_ Yoba, this woman. _

The mayor finally seems to notice Clarice and calls her forward, his excitement only just calming down. “I’m not sure how you did it, Clarice…but the community center has never looked better!”

Clarice looks a little bashful at that, her arms crossed behind her back and her head ducking a little to avoid eye contact. “I’m glad I could help,” she says quietly.

The mayor steamrolls on. “You’ve done Pelican Town a great service. Everyone in town is pleased.”

People around them cheer and clap, knowing better than to clap her on the shoulder. Her blush intensifies under all the attention and Shane watches carefully, waiting for the right moment to steal her away. It’s not yet, though. Lewis doesn’t seem to be done.

“As a way of saying thank you, I’d like to present you with this town’s greatest honour: The Stardew Hero Award. You’ve earned it!” He hands her a trophy that is almost taller than she is, and Clarice stumbles for a moment under the weight of it before adjusting. It is gaudy, bright and shiny, but Clarice accepts it with a nod. She carefully sets it on the ground, brushing the dust off it, and hesitantly offers her hand for Lewis to shake. He takes it gladly, pumping it up and down.

The celebration is interrupted by grumbling coming from the open door, and Shane winces. He knows that grumble. He has heard it far, far too many times from doing everything wrong.  _ You jinxed it, Lewis. I know one person who definitely isn’t happy by you taking away his new storehouse.  _ Sam winces at the noise too. 

Clarice and Lewis turn around, Lewis’s brow furrowing even as Clarice’s face goes stony. “Who is that?”

A near shrieking voice comes from the door. “My sales have been plummeting! Where have all my customers gone?”

Lewis sighs. “Ah. Morris.”

Clarice goes even stonier, if possible. Her arms come out in front of her, crossed in front of her chest, and she levels her gaze at the encroaching figure. Even as Shane shrinks back a little, she stands a little sturdier, trying to make her small frame take up more space as Morris practically charges at her. 

Morris looks around in horror at the newly fixed building and - more importantly - all the people filling it. “All my customers...here? This isn’t good.”

“People, Morris,” Clarice mutters, just barely loud enough for Shane to hear. “Not just customers.”

He ignores her, which makes Shane bristle, and focuses more on Pierre, who is marching towards him with a smirk on his face. “How does it feel, Morris?”

“This means nothing,” Morris sneers. “I’ll just run a 75% off sale and all my customers will come crawling back to me, begging for forgiveness. You’ll see!”

_ They just might.  _

Pierre bristles, and Clarice steps forward, hands up to stop the fight. She gives the two a look, scanning back and forth. It takes her a moment to come up with the words, but when she does, her tiny smirk seems to match Pierre’s massive one. “If this was against anyone else, I would be reasonable.”

“But?” Shane calls over.

Their eyes lock and her smirk grows a little larger, a little sharper. Shane shouldn’t be as affected with that as he is. “But fuck Joja,” she says clearly, loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. She steps backward, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Fuck them so much. Pierre, have at it.”

“With pleasure,” Pierre grins, his hand curling into a fist. “Not this time, Morris. I think it’s time we settled this once and for all.”

“Oh?” Morris’s grin is replaced by a glower. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Pierre’s only answer is to raise his fists. Morris scoffs and begins to walk out the door before Pierre calls out, “If you’re too scared to fight me, then bring one of your coworkers! Or are all Joja employees such cowards?”

“HEY!” Sam calls out from a couch, despite the fact that he is very clearly filming this on his phone.

Shane grins. “You got him.”

Morris doesn’t even look at his two employees in the room, whirling around to glare at Pierre. “Insult me all you like, but don’t you dare insult the good name of Joja!”

Clarice snorts. Shane does too, rolling his eyes. When was that name  _ ever  _ good? Either way, Morris squares up, fists raised, and people start to watch as the punches fly. Morris insults Pierre’s produce selection, Pierre insults Morris’s punches by way of a Joja insult. George yells ‘GET HIM’ from the other side of the room, Sam is excitedly filming, and when Pierre winds up and punches Morris unconscious, the entire room bursts into an uproar around the grocer. Sam is screaming about posting that video on YouTube, and Clarice is stuck in the middle, uncomfortable.

_ And here is the perfect moment.  _ Shane catches Clarice’s eye, beckoning her over, and she makes her way through the crush of people, trophy under one arm. They go outside, carefully closing the door behind him, and settle on the swings outside.

“George said you changed some things,” he said. “How did you make it look so nice?”

She shrugs. “I just picked what felt good. What I like.” 

He files that information away - bright colours, wood, softness, warmth. Hopefully something better than that trophy.

“So...I might be out of a job,” he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Morris looked like he was running with his tail between his legs.”

She winces. “Sorry about that.”

He shrugs. “It’s not that bad. At least work won’t be eating me from the inside now.” Although there wasn’t exactly much work in town to replace that.

She is quiet for a moment. “Well…”

Shane’s head whips towards her, a frown on his face and a finger pointed at her. “No. No, no pity offers.”

She raises her hands slightly in surrender, looking at him. “Pity sucks. We know that. This isn’t pity,” she replies, looking at him with surprise, as if she is wondering how he would even consider that. “My farm is getting pretty big. I could use some help with the animals and such. They need love and attention. Especially the coop.”

Dammit. She’s got him there. He sighs loudly, already feeling the answer on the back of his tongue. “I’ll consider it.”

_ I’ll be there tomorrow. _

Clarice nods, a slight smile on her face as if she can hear it. “You know where I am.” 

_I'll have coffee and a plan._

They sit in silence for a moment more.

“I bet I can swing higher than you,” she mutters after a moment. 

He looks at her, seeing the stubborn set of her smile, and grins. He curls his fingers around the chains, his beer in the Stardrop forgotten.

“You are so on, Rivers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is why you don't underestimate tiny people.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarice gets sick. Shane tells a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sha ta co ti oh scum ne rivna_   
>  _Sha ta co ti oh nugga tir na nog_   
>  _Sha ta co ti oh scum ne rivna_   
>  _Nug a tir na nog._

“You’re sick.”

“Hello to you too, Shane.”

Clarice, quite frankly, looks like death warmed over. After she didn’t come to the Stardrop the night before, Marnie had made a big pot of chicken noodle soup and sent Shane over first thing in the morning (as if he wouldn’t already be going there to work). He had knocked on her door, the chilly fall air blowing through his hoodie, and the sight of her wrapped in a blanket, nose red from blowing, and her eyes a little bloodshot had made him wince.

“Marnie made this. You should have some,” he says, shifting the heavy pot in his hands, and she leans forward, peering at it. “Chicken noodle.”

She makes an affirming noise in her throat, which spurs a coughing fit, and in lieu of speaking, she moves to the side to let him in, her face shoved into her sleeve as she hacks up her lungs. He instantly pours her a full bowl, moving her onto the bed so she can work her way through the soup.

“I’ll go check on the animals. Anything else in the garden besides watering?”

She tilts her head, presumably going through her mental list of plants and things to harvest. “Honey,” she murmurs, her voice dry and cracking.

He nods and rolls up his sleeves, cracking his knuckles. “On it, boss.”

She rolls her eyes at him before picking up a spoon and starting on the soup.

It takes him longer than it does for her, he guesses, but he’s soon done all of her chores to keep her farm going. When he comes back in, sweaty and red-faced, she has finished the bowl of soup and is working on a cup of tea cradled in her hands. The TV is not on, but something is playing music quietly in the background. She has also lugged a chair over by the bed and left a bottle of disinfectant beside it. He throws off his hoodie and sits in the chair.

“Thanks,” he gestures to the bottle, “but I’m not worried about getting sick.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and says nothing.

“Not from you, I mean.” That comes out quieter, his cheeks going red from something other than exertion. If she hears, she doesn’t react, and he switches topic. “Good thing your nose is plugged. I smell disgusting right now.”

She chuckles softly, wiping said nose on a tissue. “Take your pick of the fridge.”

He puts together a sandwich, pours some soup into a clean mug, and settles near her to eat. There is quiet as they each eat and as Shane washes their dishes. Soon, there is a quiet moment hanging over them of Shane not wanting to leave and Clarice seemingly not asking him to go. 

“You have any good stories?” She breaks the silence after what seems like an eternity.

Shane looks at her over the lip of his thrift store mug of tea. She is settled back against the headboard, the blankets pooled around her lap, a matching cup of tea (with much more honey) in her hands. Her hair is messy, the strap of her tank top has fallen down her shoulder to show the sharp edges of her collarbone, her face is soft and inquisitive even without a smile, and her steel grey gaze is tired but alert, ready to hear everything he has to say without a shadow of judgement or doubt. The sheer domesticity of the moment, of even the thought of this becoming a regular thing - seeing her this vulnerable with him - makes his throat close up. 

_ Yoba, I want this so badly.  _

He clears his throat, trying to shake those thoughts away, and nods, trying to focus on her question. “What kind of stories?”

She shrugs. “Any kind. Real or not.”

“I don’t know many good ones,” he hedges, not wanting to embarrass himself. 

“Jas says you do. I like hearing you talk.”

Those nine words hit the wall of self-loathing inside him like a battering ram. Dammit, if she wants him to talk, he’ll talk. He’d read her the damn phone book if she wanted him to. Now, hopefully he can think of something good.

“Alright. How about a story about the forest?” He asks, thinking back to the stories Marnie used to tell him when he was a child. “Get comfortable, let me know when you’re ready.”

She settles in her blankets, puts her cup on the table beside her, and gives him her complete and undivided attention. His heart thunders for a moment in his chest before he comes back to himself. He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in what he thinks is a storyteller’s pose. 

“When I was a kid, Aunt Marnie would tell all kinds of stories. She tells them to Jas now. She says that there’s something beyond Cindersap Forest,” he begins slowly, testing the waters. Nothing changes in Clarice’s expression, so he keeps going. “The Wizards who have always been in the tower were the only ones who could go there. It’s a whole other world, bright and colourful, where time slows down and a century can spin out in an hour. Marnie’s grandma called it  _ Tir Na Nog,  _ the land of the ever young.”

“The Otherworld,” Clarice croaks softly, her eyes widening just slightly. 

Shane nods. “You’ve heard of it?”

Her eyes flick over to the bookcase, where fairy tales line an entire shelf. “My mother.”

He tries hard not to sink a bit in his chair in disappointment. He wanted to surprise her with a story. “Then you’ve heard this before.”

Clarice shakes her head. “Whatever stories my grandfather told about Stardew Valley, he didn’t tell me this one. Keep going?”

The request is so gentle that his urge to go silent is squashed into dust and he sits up straight again. She really wants to know, so he’ll tell her a good one. His favourite. 

“You know the Enchanted Woods, the one west of my house?”

She nods. 

“Marnie says that’s the doorway to  _ Tir Na Nog _ ,” he lowers his voice, leaning forward as if he’s telling her a secret. She reflexively leans forward too and he smiles. “You have to go in with something sweet, a piece of iron, and a flower in your hair. Then you find a circle of mushrooms, a fairy ring. Leave a sip or bite of the sweet in the centre, take one yourself, and sing to the trees in the fairy tongue. If they like you, they’ll spirit you away and you’ll dance the time away.”

Clarice smiles, but doesn’t interrupt. That spurs him on.

“The flower is a gift to ensure they’ll let you go, and the iron will guide you there. The fae don’t like iron,” he shrugs. “I think it hurts them. It may not bring you home quickly - it may even be a century before you get back - but it will lead your way home.”

“Have you ever tried?” She asks softly.

He nods. “Almost every summer when I was a kid. And when I first came here. I tried fruit, juice, homemade jam. Sang in any language I could teach myself. I even tried a Gaelic song about _Tir Na Nog_.”

Her head cocks slightly. Her mouth opens slightly, as if she is about to ask a question, but she closes it. 

“Go ahead.”

“Do you remember it?”

“You want me to sing?” His eyebrows shoot up. Talking is one thing, but singing?  Her cheeks colour and she looks away. It is so endearing that he can’t help teasing her a little. “All you had to do was ask.”

It takes a while for him to think of the words, but [he starts humming and soon starts singing it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhW1mh7U6-U) He definitely fumbles over a few of the words, but it comes out right, a mix of Gaelic and English that flow easily. 

When he looks back, she’s fallen asleep sitting up. Her head has tilted back to rest against the wall, her mouth fallen a little bit open as she breathes. It is so excruciatingly soft and tender that Shane can’t breathe. He reaches over and carefully tucks her in, bringing the blanket up under her chin. For a moment, he debates doing more, but in deference to her boundaries, he gently smooths his thumb across her forehead. 

“Sleep well, farm girl.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for sickfic. I truly, truly am.
> 
> Thank you, dreaminglestrade, for looking over this chapter yet again :) I am definitely going to have to take off my 'no beta we die like men' tag at this rate.
> 
> Also, the song he sings at the end (which I have hyperlinked, but will include here for mobile users) - is Tir Na Nog by Celtic Women, which absolutely inspired the last half of this story - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhW1mh7U6-U


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt our daily programming to bring you a perspective swap and a relapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A substantial trigger warning ahead for alcoholism, relapses, drinking yourself into a mess, and off-screen character death.
> 
> Also, some context for name dropping - Jill is the name of Shane's therapist, as given earlier in this fic.

It is 8 at night and someone pounds on her front door.

Clarice startles from her book and freezes, waiting with bated breath to see if it happens again. She had been rather engrossed in the folklore of the Valley, to see if she can learn more about the Junimos without getting into long conversations with Rasmodius - not that she has any issues with Rasmodius, but it is a long walk - and the fist slamming into her door was not unlike a boom of thunder. She marks her page and closes the book on her hand, waiting for a moment to see if it would happen again. Unable to not think of thunder, she counts.  _ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6... _

Then there is another bang, just as loud, in a one-two-three pulse. However, after the third bang, there is a squeaking sound, like skin dragging along the wood. Her hackles rise on her neck and she tries to blend into her armchair.

_ Monsters aren’t real. They can’t get me if they can’t see me. Are monsters like t-rexes? Can they only see movement? Yoba, I hope so, I don’t want to die... _

“FUCK!”

Her thoughts derail. Monsters don’t say fuck, and especially not in Shane’s voice. Unless it’s a mimic. But if a monster could mimic Shane’s voice, Clarice imagines that it would choose a different tone of voice than a rather drunk, petulant Shane who probably got a splinter from her desperately-needs-to-be-varnished door. Her fear eases, but it slowly turns to worry. 

Monster or not, that’s not a good tone of voice. Something is wrong.

She rises from her chair, placing her book on the table, and walks to the door. She’s in her pajamas, barefoot and hands freshly bandages from a rough day on the farm. If he is hoping for a good impression, he isn’t getting one. Sure enough, when she opens it, there Shane is, laying on her porch, a beer can in hand and the smell of alcohol covering him like an old blanket.

“I fucked up,” he sobs.

Her cool expression shifts to worry even as her insides scream and she crouches, giving him a brief look over. “May I touch you?” She asks softly. “I am here to help.”

Even as he sobs out “I don’t deserve it”, he nods. She gently takes his face, tilts his chin up to look at her. His breath reeks of beer, his eyes are red and puffy with tears, and he looks so desperately fragile. She has seen him like this once before and that ended up with her dragging him to Harvey’s to get his stomach pumped. This...isn’t good. Not the kind of thing that can be solved by sobering him up. 

Clarice takes a slow breath, bracing herself for the contact, and slides her arm under his back, taking his weight. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll start from there.”

It takes more effort than she would like to hoist Shane up to his wobbly feet. While Clarice knows she has gotten stronger, he is rather big and solid. A comforting sort of solid, but still solid. She gets his arm over her small shoulders and brings him inside, dragging the door shut behind her. 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he moans, “But Jas…”

She nods in understanding. “You don’t want her to see you like this.” Jas is young, still too young to fully understand that recovery is not a steady climb up. Some days, you fall down. This is a falling down day, possibly falling all the way back to the bottom of the hill. She pats his ribs gently from where she is holding him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll start there.”

He groans, putting his face into her hair, and Clarice can’t help stiffening. She has never liked being touched. Too many people have ignored her boundaries, thinking her small and cute and that meant it was perfectly okay to pinch her cheeks, pick her up, pat her on the head, or - god forbid - pick her up. Then there have been a couple of times where her boundaries were ignored far worse than that. Her limits to touch have eased up from getting to know Shane; he is always careful, never wants to hurt her or push her too far. But this...this is getting close to her limit.

Still, he groans into her hair. “You’re too nice to me. Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because I want to,” she eases him into the bathroom and sits him down on the toilet. The shower slowly creaks to life, the water needing a little time to heat up, and she wets a cloth in it to gently wipe at his face. “Do you need help getting in there?”

Shane hangs his head, sweaty hair falling into his face. “Maybe.”

“Alright. I can do that.” She is careful as she takes off his shirt, smoothing his hair gently out of his face in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. He chases her hand a bit, head rolling into her palm, so he seems to like it. He pulls his shorts down to show his boxer briefs, and she eases him into the shower. It is lukewarm and he hisses, but a little cool water won’t hurt him. “I’ll make some tea.”

Clarice leaves a pair of pajama pants and an oversized shirt on the toilet seat for him to put on. She’s already accepted that he’s going to be sleeping on her sofa or possibly in her bed. Now, it is just time to make some tea, get him comfortable, and maybe - if she has the emotional strength - talk to him about why he relapsed. She already knows it’ll be a doozy.

\--

By the time Shane comes out, the water has boiled, the tea is steeped, a little bit of honey has been put into Shane’s mug, and there are two mugs sitting by the couch. The shirt is tight on him, riding up a bit by his stomach and showing every shape of him, but the pants fit. His hair is wet, dripping down onto his face, and the expression on his face is less drunk than before but still sad. He sits on the end of the couch and Clarice hands him a mug of cooling tea. 

“How are you feeling now?” She asks softly.

He shrugs, sipping at it. 

Clarice doesn’t press anymore. She sips at her tea and waits quietly for Shane to tell her what is wrong. She knows it’ll eventually happen. 

After a while, Shane speaks, his voice choked up. “Anniversary.”

It takes Clarice a bit to puzzle it out, thinking back to the few things Shane has told her about his background, and then it sinks in.  _ Oh no. The anniversary of Jas’s parents dying.  _ She doesn’t say that out loud, but her empathy shows on her face. “How long?”

“Two years ago,” He has a long sip of his tea and winces. “Damn, I wish-”

“No alcohol here,” she interjects quietly.

He sighs. "It should have been me."

Clarice shakes her head. "That train of thought never goes well."

"It should have!" He puts down the cup and stares at her through wet eyes. "That little girl lost her parents and got me instead! The hell kind of exchange is that?"

Her eyes narrow. "It's not an exchange. It was terrible, it happened, and I am sorry for your loss, and hers. But wishing yourself dead doesn't bring them back. It just leaves Jas alone. Take a breath, think about what Jill told you to do when you have an episode. Walk it through. Breathe. Drink your tea."

Thankfully, he listens and does those things in that order. She sips her tea as he does and watches him refocus. Then there is a soft sigh. "I know it won't fix it. But it hurts."

They are quiet for a moment longer. Clarice puts down the mug and reaches over, gently covering his hand. There are no words to make this right - she knows that. Platitudes don’t fix anything, and the last thing that Shane wants is any pity. Besides, she has a feeling that he already feels guilty about drinking the evening away and not sitting with Jas, comforting her over the loss of her parents. But they were Shane’s best friend and brother too. It’s hard to ignore one to focus on the other. 

So Clarice does the only thing she can. She curls her fingers around his hand, summons her courage to do so with the other, and gives his hand a squeeze. He sniffles, turning slowly to look at her and his hand like he can’t believe it’s happening. It is the most contact she has voluntarily given him, apart from having his arm around her shoulders to carry him places. It is a statement of support as much as her following words, soft and gentle.

“I am sorry. I am here for you and Jas.”

He blinks at her for a moment, unsure what to do as he processes, and then throws his arms around her, sobs coming anew. “I don’t deserve you!” He sobs. “And you deserve better than me!”

Clarice sighs and awkwardly pats his back, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. “It is nothing about deserving,” she mutters. She hopes he won’t remember this. It will kill him with embarrassment. "You're a good friend."

"That's not what I mean. You don't understand."

_ Maybe, for now, I _ _shouldn't_. We need to have a long conversation about this.

Clarice doesn't say anything at that. She just pats his back. 

As his sobs die down again, she eases him up, arm around her shoulders again, and walks him to her bed. “You can sleep here. Closer to the bathroom.” Either way, she puts a garbage can beside the bed and tucks him in, smoothing the quilt around him. Her thumb gently brushes over his sweaty forehead down to the bridge of his nose and back up. He sniffles quietly, raising a hand to wipe his eyes clear.

“I’m sorry.”

She breathes, focuses on that rather than the emotional weight of this moment ( _ and that he is  _ **_in her bed, sweet Yoba, he is in her bed, she has never had anyone in her bed other than her, and now she is thinking things_ ** ), and pats his hair. 

“We’ll talk after your hangover. Sleep well.”

With that, she dims the lantern, gathers a glass of water and some painkillers to put by the bed, and makes her way over to the couch.

It will be an interesting morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarice is a science dork. Shane thinks she is adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't actually happen in Clarice's playthrough, but I absolutely loved the idea, so here we are. 
> 
> We're on the home stretch! And as always, thank you to dreaminglestrade for the support. You are a fantastic cheerleader.

On a lovely weekend morning, Marnie wakes him up with a loud knock on his bedroom door. “Shane! There’s someone at the door for you.”

He groans, dragging the blanket over his face. He's not hungover, so it's not as horrible as it could be, but he squints through his eyelashes at the clock anyway. 6:30 am.  _ It’s too early in the morning. And it’s Saturday. I just wanted to sleep in a little bit before I go feed my girls.  _ “Who is it?” He grumbles, not quite coherent but somehow not caring. "Can't you tell them to come back later?"

She opens the door and replies, a bit of a smile in her voice, “It's Clarice - I thought you might want to see her."

He’s up and out of bed before he even fully processes the full meaning of that sentence, and Marnie’s smile turns into a full blown grin. He blinks, realizing exactly what he just did, and gives her a look. “Don’t say anything.”

Marnie is more than a bit amused as she replies, “Not a word.”

He tugs on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt (because there is no way that he’s subjecting her to the sight of him in just his boxers), and makes his way to the door. He’s certain his hair is sticking up every which way and that his eyes are bleary, but nothing is going to stop him from making his way over to the open door. Sure enough, there is Clarice, standing there in what looks like her pyjamas and a pair of workboots. Her cheeks are red, her chest heaving with breath, and there is a wide smile on her face.

_ Did she run here? _

He doesn’t even get a chance to say hello before she practically explodes with words. "A meteorite nearly broke my barn!"

...he is not awake enough for this. "What?"

"A meteorite!" She is practically buzzing, rocking back and forth on her feet. “It took out a couple trees and it’s glowing and  _ there is a meteorite on my farm, Shane!” _

Clarice looks absolutely delighted, stopping shy of outright asking him to come and see it, or maybe even dragging him over. This is supremely out of character for her as it is, but her excitement is so adorable that he can’t bring himself to say anything about how tired he is, how it is too early in the morning to be up. He sighs, a fond smile on his face, and nods.

... _ she's lucky I like her this much. _

"Go get Demetrius. I'll meet you at your place."  _ With some coffee. _

She doesn’t quite grin, but it is certainly close enough. Then she grabs his hands, giving them a squeeze. "Thank you!" And then off she sprints back up to her farm, inevitably taking the northern shortcut.

He is frozen in the doorway for a moment, touching the still faintly warm skin where she grabbed him. He knows how hard it is for her to touch anyone. The most contact she’s ever given him was when he was drunk (and he hates that he doesn’t remember that and that he pushed her boundaries that badly) and she was giving him comfort. That she just touched him, no, grabbed and squeezed him, cherishing the touch out of joy was...monumental.

His heart thumps in his chest.

_ Shit, I  _ **_am_ ** _completely gone over_ _  her. _

He slowly closes the door and turns back to the kitchen. Marnie is smiling at him, clearly holding her tongue as she pours him a thermos of coffee to take with him. Mercifully, she doesn’t say anything, but she clearly finds his expression and Clarice’s demenour adorable. 

He takes the coffee with a soft ‘thank you’ and goes to put his hair to some form of rights. And grab his camera. And maybe even wake up Jas.

\--

Somehow, Shane didn't expect it to actually  _be_ a meteorite (not that he doubted Clarice in the slightest, but it isn't exactly a regular occurrence that a meteor falls onto your neighbour's farm), but there it is in all its purple and black glory. Shane stares at it with wide eyes, not quite able to process it, and murmurs a soft, “Whoa.”

Jas blurts out, “It’s  _ glowing! _ ”

"So it is." Shane smiles at her. “Want to get a picture before the scientists arrive?”

Demetrius and Maru arrive shortly after, Clarice in tow, already murmuring with excitement. Jas is posing a respectable distance from the meteor, and Shane is lying on his stomach, trying to get a shot like she’s holding it in her hands. When he’s done, they both back away, letting the scientists pounce on it. 

“Incredible!” Demetrius calls out. “When did it impact?”

“About 3 in the morning,” Clarice replies, stepping back to let them work. “Gave my babies quite a fright.”

Shane can imagine. The cows, goats, sheep, and pigs mill about the pen quietly, eying the fuss around them. He walks over and gives the nearest cow a pet on the soft nose. She moos at him, and he smiles at her.

Maru gets started on scrapings while Demetrius takes readings of it. Clarice just stands there with her pickaxe, ready to break it apart whenever they’re done. Jas is busy fussing over the cows, and Shane turns to look at the still excited farmer.

"Still in your pyjamas?"

They're flannel, a plain grey with tie-dye patterns on them. The shirt buttons up the front, laces holding the pants shut. They are unmistakably comfy and adorable.

Clarice blushes a little. "Emily made them for me. They're comfortable."

"They look good on you."

They both blush at that, turning their attention to the meteorite to save their egos (even as Shane's mind plays a loop of _why did you say that, you idiot, why did you **say that**_ ).

“You get all the weird things on your farm,” he teases.

“Must be my magnetic personality.”

“Do you think it is magnetic?” Now he’s curious.

She shakes her head. “I don't think so. I threw some iron nails at it to see if they would stick or dissolve, but nothing happened. Part of me wants to leave it intact and take it to a museum, but I don't exactly have a clear route for anyone to take it off my property."

Nope. Not unless anyone wants to disrupt her carefully planted garden, trees, and barn, and Shane knows she will quietly fight to the death for the fruits of her labour. "So, breaking it up."

She nods. "I'll leave a smaller piece of it for Gus, some for Demetrius and Maru to work with, and send the rest off to Zuzu City museum."

"You think of everything."

Her cheeks go pink at that. "Still, it is quite cool to see, isn’t it?”

He nods.

The scientists fuss over the meteor a bit more, taking photos, measurements, readings, and scrapings, before they step away. "Alright, Clarice, you ready?" Demetrius calls.

Clarice swings her pickaxe up and nods, walking forward. There is no dramatic announcement, no comic book cry - just Clarice raising her pickaxe and slamming it down. A wide crack runs through it, the sound audible even from the safe distance Shane has taken, and it takes only two more hits for it to completely shatter into pieces. Arousal hits him like a tidal wave. 

_ She is so strong. _

He hopes no one notices him shifting and blushing as they pick up the pieces of the meteorite. Clarice does give him a good sized piece, pressing it gently into his hand and curling his fingers over it. It’s faintly warm, but it is not as warm as her touch. “Something out of this world. Fits you.” She says softly, her cheeks pinking.

He hears the unsaid end of the pick up line.  _ Because you’re out of this world too. _

It takes every ounce of strength he has not to outright flee. He nods and smiles, and takes Jas home. But it still feels like running.

\--

He is lying in bed, late at night, as he contemplates how utterly fucked he is over this woman. Every touch, rare as they are, feels not quite like a brand, but warm and comforting and lingering. Her hand taking his felt like it should always be there, small and strong. Her smiles of every size light up the room. Her laughter grabs him by the heart and makes it soar. Her strength, her courage, her intelligence, the curve of her neck, how she blows her hair out of her eyes, how she gives every word he says the weight and care like he is a king giving royal decree, the furrow of her brow…

Attraction is one thing. He is attracted to how she swings a pickaxe, the strength in her arms, the shape of her lips, the dips of her collarbone. Being captivated is another. And this….this is something else. There is a word for this, four letters long, and it is the most terrifying word he can think of. She deserves better, so much better. She’s his friend, a steady rock, and he is the same for her. This would ruin everything.

He turns to look at the meteorite piece sitting on the window ledge, catching the moonlight on it. It looks so plain, like any other rock, but with the work that was put into it, it absolutely sparkles. If there is a better descriptor for Clarice, he doesn’t know it.

He groans, rolling over and putting his face in his pillow.

He is so, so desperately fucked because he is in love with Clarice and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 10 Heart event, with a little preamble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting two chapters in a day, I know, but also consider: I love fluff. And I need this. 
> 
> My headcanon is that gridball is similar to rugby, and that Shane was quite the sprinter. A lot of beer kind of changed that.

Clarice catches him by Cindersap Pond, dangling his bare feet in the water, sparkling water in hand.

"You're avoiding me."

...he hunches, gripping the can with enough strength that it crunches a little.

With a breath for courage, Shane turns around to look at her. Clarice leans against a tree just behind him. Her arms have turned from straw to muscles, strong enough to swing a pickaxe and crack even the most substantial boulder. Where she was frail, she is strong, and where she was stony, there are cracks that have widened into fissures to show how she feels. Her hair is still short, but she is tanned, with freckles along her pale skin. She has come alive here, and Shane desperately does not want to drag her down with him.

But he can't lie to her. "Yeah."

"Did I do something wrong?" Her voice is soft, afraid, and he hates himself for having caused that.

"No, no, you didn't,” he can’t say that quick enough, eyes wide. Then he looks away, feeling more than a little embarrassed at how he’s acting. “I...just processed something and I didn't know how to deal with it."

"Something about me."

"Yeah."

She is quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn't, because how do you say  _ I think I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you since I found out you named a chicken La, since you brought me pepper poppers on my birthday, since you first smiled at me, since you sat beside me at the Stardrop Tavern and made me look at something other than my grief  _ without sounding like a complete sappy moron?

"And avoiding it is how to deal with it?" He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s raising an eyebrow at him, silently telling him that their therapists have many things to say to that if he agrees.

Still. "Better than saying something and having it go wrong."

She is quiet, thinking it through, and he doesn’t say anything. She’ll get it. After a few moments, sure enough, he hears a faint "oh." 

Then it really sinks in. "OH."

He puts the drink down and puts his face in his hands, unable to look at her.  _ Here it comes, I knew it, I’m not good enough for her, there’s no way she could want a wreck like me, Yoba knows she deserves so much better… _

There is noise, and soon she is sitting beside him. Her boots crunch in the grass, her clothes rustle as she settles beside him, and even if he didn’t hear it, he can feel her presence, her warmth.

"Shane, can you look at me?"

He shakes his head.

"Please?"

Her soft request puts strings on him, pulling his head out of his hands to look at her, almost without his control. Her expression is soft, a little fond, if he deludes himself. Even sitting and with him hunching, he still towers over her, and that little different just reminds him that he doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve this tiny strong woman who could probably swing him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He waits for her to tell him that this will happen, but...Clarice doesn’t speak. 

Her hand slowly comes up and cups his cheek, and the breath is punched out of him. He leans into the touch without even really thinking about it, his eyes closing for a moment. It feels so nice. She is so warm. Her fingertips and palm are rough with calluses and scars, but her touch is delicate, as though he is a precious thing that deserves all the care in the world.

"I like you too."

Then his eyes snap open to stare at her. Clarice is smiling a bit, colour in her cheeks, and her fingers brush along his skin.

"I am not ideal romance material, though."

He snorts. "Neither am I."

“And if I told you that you were wrong?”

“Then I’d tell you that you were wrong about yourself and this circle would never end.”

She laughs and he swoons at the sound. Just a little bit. He’s not that much of a sap (he is lying through his teeth and he doesn’t care). She leans forward, tipping her head so their foreheads touch. His next breath comes out in a rush of relief, and he slowly places the flowers beside him. A hand rests itself gently on her waist and he can't help beaming. 

If she were any other girl, he would ask to kiss her. But Clarice hoards her personal space like a dragon does treasure and he knows that this is a lot, even for her. So he doesn't push, just exalts in the fact that  _ she likes me too, this isn't a dream, she  _ **_likes me too._ **

And maybe that he doesn't kiss her makes it a little more real.

They stay like that for a moment longer before drawing away. Even so, her shoulder and knee are each touching his, and Shane would stay there for an eternity if it meant he could have that.

Finally, he breaks the silence with a “I bought tickets to a gridball game in Zuzu City.”

He’s wanted to go to a home game for some time now - he loved playing gridball when he was in high school - and now he can finally afford tickets (Gus’s poor revenue stream). She is quiet, waiting for the end of the sentence, and he adds, “Um...two tickets. If you want to come with me?”

Her face lights up as she nods. “I’ve never been. Never was a priority. I have seen them on TV, though.”

“It’s much better in person,” he assures her. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He promises to drop the ticket off at her house later, along with the time, and she bumps his shoulder again before rising. Her hand rests on his shoulder, a steady weight, and she gives it a squeeze. “See you later, Shane.” 

When he lies in bed that night, he thinks he can still feel her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing his stubble, and it takes a lot of effort not to roll over and scream into his pillow like a teenage girl.

**_SHE LIKES ME TOO._ **

\---

He arrives at the bus stop far too early. Pam looks at him far too knowingly, looks at his hair actually combed nicely, the comfortable jacket that isn’t his Joja hoodie, a pair of jeans instead of shorts, and the way he keeps looking at the direction of her farm, waiting for Clarice to show up.

She is, of course, five minutes early. Perfectly punctual. Her hair is gelled off the side and she’s wearing a nice shirt over her farm jeans, white lace and green cotton, and she looks so lovely that Shane wants to pinch himself.

He quietly does so as she pays for the bus.

They sit next to each other on the bus, thigh to thigh. She asks him for a quiet refresher on the rules and team information (“So I can cheer with confidence,” she says, and Yoba, if he wasn’t in love with her before, he certainly is now) and he gladly obliges, talking the whole way. She asks good questions and he even has enough confidence to talk about when he used to play.

“I was a winger,” he explains.

“That means you were fast, right?” She asks.

He nods. “Left wing. I scored a few tries, but I wasn’t as fast as the right winger. I was bigger so I broke more tackles. Coach loved me.”

She smiles. “Did any of your games get filmed?”

“Don’t tell me you want to watch my old gridball games,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. “They’re nothing special.”

Her expression when he looks back at her says otherwise and his heart absolutely soars. He can’t quite look at her, focusing on the window as he mutters something about her being too good to him.

“I used to dance, if you want to see something in return,” she offers. “I think I have a tape somewhere. Ballroom.”

“I’d love to.”

Halfway to Zuzu City, she hesitantly hooks her pinky in his, resting their joint hands on his thigh. He knows how much that gesture costs her and he can't help beaming. Her cheeks are pink, and the warmth in his chest makes him feel light. He’s practically walking on air.

They order hot dogs and popcorn at the arena (they get into a small disagreement over who will pay and they ultimately pay for their own). She gets a cup of coffee with it. He does too, even though he can barely stand coffee (he wants to remember every moment of this with perfect clarity), and she adds sugar and cream to his to make it more tolerable. And a touch of something to make it taste like hazelnut. It tastes nice.

Of course, he gets a bit too enthusiastic with the game. He jumps up in his seat and cheers when his team gets ahead, while Clarice claps and whoops from her seat. When there is a foul, she yells along with him, although she uses more creative insults than his curses.

When his team scores, he whoops, spins, and kisses her in triumph. She looks stupefied, eyes wide and frozen in place, and suddenly, all the joy fades. 

_ I kissed her. Without asking. I am such a fucking idiot, how could I have done that, I knew things were going too well! _

He wants to die. 

"I am...so sorry."

It takes her a moment of blinking, her hand almost unconsciously rising up to her mouth to feel where he had unceremoniously smashed his face to hers, but eventually, she seems to process it. Her cheeks go bright pin, a smile slides across her face, and she shakes her head. "Don't be. I...think I liked that."

He stares at her.

_ No. There’s no way I’m that lucky. _

"I mean, I'd like a little more warning next time, but..."

The words almost trip over themselves as he interrupts, eyes wide, "May I kiss you again?"

She pretends to consider it, tapping her chin with her finger, and nods. He hopes his breath isn't terrible as he closes the last bit of distance, kissing her softly on the mouth. It is light and quick, and she looks pleasantly surprised after he pulls away.

"That was  _ much _ nicer."

He could jump for joy. He settles back in his seat, their fingers laced together, and they cheer in unison when his team scores again.

Idly, Shane thinks that it doesn’t even matter if his team wins the game. He looks over at Clarice, focused intently on the game, a bit of ketchup on the side of her mouth and her hand still in his...

_ I’ve already won. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going steady, and coming to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough._ ]()

It’s only been a day since their date at the gridball game (at least, Shane is pretty sure it was a date, it certainly was for him), and he’s been walking on cloud 9 since. He still comes in the morning to help feed her livestock, she gives him a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and they go for a walk around her land after they’re done.

“Come in for a moment. I have something for you.”

Clarice sounds a little nervous, her head down, her shoulders tense. Shane has no idea what to think of that, but he knows the answer anyway. “Sure.”

She leads him back, hand in his as they walk through her carefully laid paths up to the house. They go inside her house and she opens the fridge, holding the door so he can’t look into it. “Close your eyes?”

He obliges, both hands pressed over his eyes to be certain.

There is a soft laugh as she takes one hand with cold fingers, gently prying it away, and places something into his hand. It is stiff and it crinkles in his touch, like thin plastic wrapping bending, and he has absolutely no idea what she has placed into it. “Can I look now?”

“Breathe in through your nose first.”

He does, and he instantly knows what he’s been given.

_ Flowers. _

His eyes snap open and he stares at the bouquet that has been pressed into his hand. Not just any bouquet - one of Pierre’s. 

He feels happy tears come to his eyes.

"Really?"

"Really." 

He puts his face into the blooms to try and hide the sudden rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. She moves up close to him - he can see her through the plastic wrapping - and after taking a breath, she opens her arms in a clear invitation.

Needing that little physical reassurance, he instantly steps forward into the hug, putting his face into her hair and shaking just a little. There isn’t a moment where it’s awkward like it would have been before. It is completely natural and welcome, just a moment of comfort and care where Clarice is rubbing his back, her face pressed into his collarbone, and she makes a soft soothing sound under her breath.

“I was so nervous to pick it up,” she says quietly into his shirt. “I must have gone in and out of the shop about five times. Pierre knew exactly what I wanted before I even asked. Apparently I am disgustingly obvious.”

He laughs wetly, wiping his eyes and nose with a hand so he doesn’t get anything into her hair. It is one thing to guess that someone likes you - she’d said as much before he took her to a gridball game - but it is another entirely for them to commit to you.

“I feel the same way,” he manages after a moment. “About getting more serious, I mean. And about you in general.”

He feels warmth on his collarbone and the shape of her smile against his skin. Her fingers tighten in his hoodie, and she says softly, “Yay.”

He snickers for a moment and draws back, although he can’t quite stop touching her. No, he definitely swaps the bouquet from one hand to the other so that he can hold her hand again. “Me too.”

Eventually, they let go so they can get to farming chores and he takes the bouquet home to put in water. Jas is the first one to see it, somehow works out how happy he is, and promptly shrieks with delight. “TELL ME YOU SAID YES.”

Marnie calls over, “Jas, inside voice, honey.”

Shane laughs. “Yes, Jas. I did.”

Marnie whips around, stares at the bouquet, and lets out a shout of triumph herself. She immediately runs over and sweeps Shane up into a hug. Jas is bouncing around, cheering as well, and Shane has to hold the bouquet up high so it doesn’t get crushed. He nearly starts weeping all over again in joy because how did he get this lucky? How is he so loved?

When he sees the flowers on the table the next morning, he gets a dopey grin on his face and Marnie looks so proud and delighted that she starts to weep too. They are a weepy mess of a family but it works.

He goes over for dinner the next night. He brings fresh eggs and veggies, and they work side by side in the kitchen on it. There is music playing faintly on the radio, and the silence is warm but comfortable.

"You know, I think that was my first kiss."

Shane's head whips around to stare at her. Clarice is thoughtful as she chops radishes for salad.

"If I was kissed before, I don't remember it. Or it didn’t matter."

Something about that punches him in the gut. When was the last time he was  _ anyone's  _ first kiss? 

She looks at him, obviously waiting for some kind of reaction, and like an idiot, all he can say is, "That really makes me want to kiss you again."

She laughs and turns around to look at him. "Go ahead."

With that permission, he gladly crowds her against the counter and kisses her smile. They both forget about the salad. And dinner. At least for a while.

* * *

**_A small little epilogue_ **

They still haven’t gotten married or moved in together, but the rest of the year passes with comfort anyway. 

Clarice’s hair is getting a bit longer, long enough that she can fiddle with it, twirling a piece of hair by her ears while she thinks. The shaved sides are growing out, and she says that she’s thinking about a pixie cut. It suits her and although he somewhat misses feeling the prickle of stubble when he kisses her head, it makes her happy. 

She is changing from what she was like when she got here. It should be annoying. But he can’t help but be proud of her. She talks a little more freely. She swears softly, her eyes a little brighter. She has small conversations with people in the tavern. She’s warmed up, a little softer despite her stoniness. She hugs him more often - there are few moments where they’re not touching - and she has started helping Penny teach Jas and Vincent in the winter.

He’s completely quit drinking. He goes to therapy more regularly. He still has bad days - and they make a pretty good chunk of money when they take the recycling in from the amount of sparkling water he drinks to try and tide over the cravings - but so does she. He sometimes goes to sit in the chicken coop, breathing in the smell of feathers and straw, and after a while, Clarice will come and join him. He showers more regularly, he still wears shorts but has swapped out to cargo pants when he needs to, and with all of the good food, he’s started to slim down a bit. Alex has made some noises about Shane joining him for a gridball game. Shane is slowly starting to consider it.

Their therapists are beyond happy with the progress they’ve made, and they are very proud of each other. Shane is quietly watching weather forecasts to see when it will next rain, and when he can make a run for the beach.

They sit on the porch together in the morning after chores - she with her ever present cup of coffee, him with his sparkling water. The chickens run around, her horse chews grass by the fence posts, and there is the faint lowing of cattle in the distance. A part of Shane feels like this is still too good to be true - that there is no way he deserves to be this happy. Clarice has those days as well - he sees it in the way she looks at him, love and guilt and shame rolled all together. But then there is a hand on a shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, and while it doesn’t make everything go away, it certainly eases it. 

Recovery’s a bitch. But they are getting there, and they are getting there together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! We are coming to a close. It almost brings a tear to my eye. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this and giving me feedback. A special thanks to dreaminglestrade who has been the best sounding board a girl could ask for (and for screaming with me over this when I needed to scream). But do not worry! This will not be the last of Clarice and Shane. I have a few ideas floating around... Stay tuned and stay beautiful <3


End file.
